With his show Friday at John T. Floore Country Store opening for Los Lonely Boys, Austin's acclaimed singer-songwriter is nearing the end of a tumultuous year that saw the exit of two longtime key members from his band, the Sensitive Boys, some broken ribs after a fall and the release of "Big Station."

Pulkingham embarked on a solo career. With Muñoz, a talented and popular rocker, it came down to a communication and excitement breakdown.

The new album, released on Fantasy Records, completes a trilogy of Tony Visconti-produced CDs that began with "Real Animal" and "Street Songs of Love." Much of "Big Station" was worked out during unplugged gigs at the Havana Hotel.

There's a new energy in the air around the Sensitive Boys, but the changes have admittedly tested Escovedo's leadership skills - and surprised fans.

"The personnel changes are always daunting," he said. "Whenever you mix up the personalities in a band that's been playing for 11 years with David, and 20-something years with Hector, at first it was bit odd. That comfort zone wasn't there.

"But that's exactly what I wanted for us to create. I thought we'd gotten too comfortable. I thought we'd gotten too complacent with just the way we played everything."

The frustrations had simmered for a time. For that reason, he purposely kept the new songs he'd written for "Big Station" away from the band.

"I kept the songs from the band for a long time because I was afraid that we'd make 'Street Songs of Love, Volume 2.' I didn't want to do that," he said.

Muñoz was the first to depart after he and the bandleader failed to agree on the beats for the songs. The drummer contends he was fired.

"I'll be honest with you, Hector and I had played so long together, it was like a complacent marriage," Escovedo said. "Nobody was doing anything to turn each other on anymore, and nobody was trying."

That's when Escovedo turned to Searles, who'd toured with him years ago during the "Gravity" days. Suddenly things were "really bouncing."

"There was swing again," Escovedo said. "It gave me a different perspective."

Indeed, all of the songs are played a beat or two faster. For example, "Bottom of the World," which began life as a world-weary Dylan folk track, now roars like a long-lost Byrds hit.

"The music goes to a different place," he said.

Escovedo, 61, is an artist in the autumn of his time. He's feeling it, too. It goes beyond his decade-long struggle living with hepatitis C, which once brought him to the brink of death.

"I really want to go out like I came in, you know, just writing songs that tell the stories of the lives that I've led," he said. "I can't do this forever. I wish I could. I'm having the greatest time of my life right now. But I have to realize there are only so many summers left. I'm trying to make the most of it."

Rolling Stone writer David Fricke once described Escovedo as "in his own genre." Later this month, Escovedo closes the book.

On Dec. 29 and backed by the Sensitive Boys and various guest musicians, he'll present a collection of 35 songs from his entire career at the 2,700-seat Austin City Limits Live at the Moody Theater in Austin.

Escovedo is not so much out to dispel myths as he is to show his audience that he's "just a fan," too.

The set list isn't completely buttoned down, but one thing is certain: It'll be presented in a dramatic, moody way.

"Everybody wants to hear the older stuff," Escovedo said with a resigned sigh.

The mantle of being a beloved critic's darling is as ever present as hepatitis C. He'd shed it if he could.

"Sometimes I think if I would have had a good lighting director, it would have made all the difference in the world," he said. "But I've been very lucky. Sometimes you go, 'What am I going to do next?' I've done everything but set myself on fire.

"But when I think I've hit the wall, I really have to talk myself down off the ledge and just realize, 'just do what you did in the beginning.' Sit there with your guitar and sing and it'll all happen, and it always does."